


Need A New Apartment

by TheWalkingBucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gun Violence, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWalkingBucky/pseuds/TheWalkingBucky
Summary: You took Bucky in while he was on the run, not realising how much trouble he was.





	Need A New Apartment

“That doesn’t even make sense,” you said, your knife clipping through the silence as you finished chopping potatoes and dumped them into the pot on the stove. You glanced over your shoulder when you got no reply, only to see Bucky staring out of your apartment window. “Look, you’ve been staying with me for a week now and I’ve never asked what you’re running from. I don’t _know_ anything.”

“You told him I was a vet,” came Bucky’s reply, distracted and more aggressive than necessary.

“He was worried about me. You think I have a lot of homeless guys sleeping on my couch? He’s seen you leaving the apartment building and he—”

“Do all your friends watch your apartment?” he shot back, leaving you a little speechless. You poured some salt over the potatoes while you gathered yourself but Bucky’s eyes were fixed on you now. He knew he had you backed into a corner.

“ _Come on Buck._ He works at Walmart for fuck’s sake,” was the best comeback you could come up with. You were starting to second-guess yourself now. Come to think of it, he’d only started showing any kind of _romantic_ interest a couple of days after Bucky stayed over. “All I said was I’ve got a war vet staying on my couch until he finds a place to stay.”

You neglected to tell him you’d also mentioned his first name. But he said he only went by Bucky, so this was probably just his paranoia. War could do that to you, right?

“They’re here,” he said in an empty voice, like he was already bored of the conversation. You ran to the window to see for yourself but he pushed you away, before the visitors parked on your street had a chance to see your face.

He grabbed the pistol he left on the coffee table, took the safety off and pressed it into your hand. “Lock yourself in the bathroom. If anyone breaks in, shoot them.”

“I can’t—”

“They’ll do worse to you if you don’t,” he said, but you still weren’t moving. You were just holding the gun, trying to come to terms with the fact that you’d been idly making dinner only five minutes ago like there was nothing wrong with the world. So he unzipped his hoodie and pulled his shirt down over his left shoulder. _“Trust me.”_

It was a mess. Someone had fused flesh into metal like he was some fucked up human experiment. The horror on your face made Bucky’s stomach turn but neither of you had time to discuss it. Not with the countless sets of heavy boots stomping up your stairwell and getting closer by the second. You ran into the bathroom, seeing Bucky pull out the machine gun he’d left under the sofa just as you shut the door and locked it.

The gunfire was louder than expected. You would’ve covered your ears if you weren’t holding a gun yourself, shakily aimed at the door. Shaking was no good. As you heard the groans and felt the vibration of bodies hitting the floor, you took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. You might not know what the fuck was going on, but you knew there was no way you’d let them take you.

Your heart pounded as the gunfire finally stopped, ears straining to hear the last remaining footsteps. They were heading towards the bathroom door, straight for you. Then they stopped.

“Don’t shoot, alright?”

_It was Bucky._ You took the safety off the gun and left it on the floor, jumping up to unlock the door. He slid in through a small gap and tried to shut it behind him with a quick, “You don’t wanna see.”

Screw that. This was _your_ apartment. “Let me see,” you demanded, pulling the door open and stepping out of the room.

He was right. You didn’t want to see.

“The cops will be here any second,” you muttered, trying to count the bodies. But just as you realised you couldn’t hear sirens, Bucky put a hand on your shoulder. “No they won’t. Not cops,” he said, moving past you to examine one of the bodies. He looked for a badge first, then pulled the man’s collar back to reveal a tattoo. Some kind of skull with tentacles. “It’s HYDRA. They want me back. Or want me put down…”

The silence that followed was broken by the hiss of water boiling over and you ran to turn the stove off, turning back just in time to see Bucky grabbing the pistol from the bathroom – and yanking off the bath panel to take the backpack he’d _apparently_ hidden beneath your bathtub.

“You can’t leave me with – what – _eight_ bodies?!”

“I’m not. You’ve got to come with me.”

This was a nightmare.

“They’re gonna come back,” he continued, “Soon. We’ve got to go.”

“Go _where_?”

“I’ll find somewhere,” he said, but he could tell you weren’t convinced. All you could do was stare at the bodies, still hoping you might hear police sirens and everything would return to normal. Bucky stepped over the fallen HYDRA agents to get to you and held your face in his hands, drawing your attention away from everything but him. One hand was harder than the other and the image of his mangled shoulder flashed into your mind. “I’ll find us somewhere safe, okay? I promise.”


End file.
